


Up in Smoke

by Poches



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poches/pseuds/Poches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard's life is going up in smoke.<br/>After all, it has been this entire time.</p><p>Colonist!SoleSurvivor!Shepard going through some serious survivor's guilt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up in Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> I'm honestly not sure how graphic this violence is, and I don't really think it's THAT graphic. So I'll put a warning anyways, but whatever!
> 
> This drabble is based off of my first Shepard, who had a Colonist and Sole Survivor background. Given what happens throughout the games, this girl has some serious survivor's guilt. Especially once I got to Mass Effect 3. This may be prone to edits and revisions, but here you go anyways.
> 
> 1/26/15: Covers Mass Effect and the beginnings of Mass Effect 2.
> 
> NOTE THAT I AM NOT DONE WITH MASS EFFECT 3. THIS IS WHY THE WORK IS PRONE TO FUTURE REVISION.

The first time she woke up, her brother’s body was draped over instead of a blanket. The air smelled of smoke and burning flesh instead of her mother’s breakfast cooking. She wanted to make a quip about her mother’s cooking skills. _Hey mom, we can’t live off of smoke!_ , but all that came out was a stream of strangled noises. Her lungs hurt. When she tried to move, she found she couldn’t. _Too heavy._ Too fat, she'd joke. She would have joked about his eating habits right around now if it weren’t for the fact she was certain he was dead, trying to protect her and make it seem like she was dead as well. To blanket her life with his death.

 _Need to get up._ She started to roll his limp, burnt body off of her, and she got a glimpse of her brother’s face. Eyes glassy, maybe as shiny as they were in life. Maybe too shiny this time. A side of his face was burnt off from the effects of the grenade. _How’re you going to get a girlfriend now?_

She shook her head. _Need to hide._ Through the haze in her mind and the smoke in the air, one thought made it through: If this was a slave operation, they’d be checking for survivors. She crawled away from the corpse of her own flesh and blood, trying to step over her parents (but it’s impossible: they’re somehow scattered across the room) and hid herself in an alcove of the closet. Her favorite hiding spot when she was younger. Even though the gunfire and screaming outside was loud enough to hurt her ears, she made sure she opened the door quickly so the squeak it made was barely audible and nestled herself within 3 walls. Closing the door, light flitted in through the slants.

The light hurt her eyes. They fluttered shut, and it was dark again. She tried to shut out the noise as it sang her to sleep. Good night, Shepard. Good night, Mindoir.

When she awoke, she was alone. She would later roam the ravaged lands of the colony, passing by all the dead until the Alliance found her. Goodbye, Shepard. Goodbye, Mindoir.

Her eyes opened again and all she saw was a rain of acid and blood. Screeches and screams intertwined in the air in a union of suffering. She saw in full as her men and women ran towards the maw of death. Gripping her guns, she decided to join them. Good night, troops. Good night, thresher maws.

Only later she would wake up, alone and in the light again. Anderson, above her, goes into a panic of relief, and shouts for nurses and doctors to come. It’s bright under the hospital light. She notices she’s the only one in the ward without a blanket drawn over her entire body. She realizes she’s the only one who will not be put in the ground, solid or melded into the earth with thresher acid. Goodbye, troops. Goodbye, thresher maws.

The first time she went to sleep, her world was burning all over again. They coated the ground in a brilliant orange blaze, smoke seeming drab in comparison. The world was falling around her in a storm of fire. Her mind briefly goes to her mother’s breakfast again before she grabs her lieutenant by the collar and orders him to get everyone off the ship. She watches as he disappears into the blaze, then into space. Gone.

She runs as fast as anyone can, halted by the open space. She manages to cram the pilot into an escape pod, only to have that chance stolen away from her in one sweep. He watches as she disappears into space, then into a wisp of air from her suit. Gone.

_Good night, Shepard. Good night, Normandy._

The second time she woke up, sirens were her alarm clock. They sang their shrill songs into her ears, human and machine, coaxing her out of her long, long sleep. Eyes open to let in unwelcome lights. She forces herself up, not taking time to feel what it’s like to feel again. And again she walks into the fire, guns blazing. Her eyes widen slightly but her expression does not change as she watches drones tear panicking people to shreds, riddling them with bullets and knocking more others into the fire. She starts to wonder if this is the border between purgatory and hell. A sterile, white land marred with fire and torn flesh.

She breathes in smoke, exhales her exhaustion. Tar fills her lungs and she coughs involuntarily, realizing she’s alive as she can feel the suffocating effects of smoke in her respiratory system.

She really wishes the smell of burning would stop being so damned nostalgic.


End file.
